


Not a Cup of Sugar Spared

by DaninNotrona



Category: Aveyond
Genre: Caves, Comfort/Angst, F/M, Slice of Life, Spiders, Tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:01:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22744435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaninNotrona/pseuds/DaninNotrona
Summary: Ingrid has some intense feelings about Boyle after finding him in peril. An older fic of mine that I gave some polish. Takes place after the end of AV4, has spoilers for the ending.
Relationships: Ingrid/Boyle Wolfbane
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Not a Cup of Sugar Spared

Dark. Slick. Wet. Ingrid skinned her elbows on the cave walls as she ran, coil of green flame around her fingers lighting the way.

Chittering insects wriggled on the walls, caught on silver strands, in knots, struggling to break free and only getting more tangled for the effort. All of them doomed.

Ingrid ran faster, teeth grinding, face in a snarl. She would get there on time. The alternative was too terrifying to contemplate.

She burst into the main cave and raised her hand above her head as she skidded to a halt. Tendrils of flame caught on stray webs and the whole cavern lit up green. Ingrid looked up.

There he was, hung up feet first, wrapped from head to toe in web. Ingrid aimed a magic missile at the thread holding him there, but then a shadow crossed the door. She whipped around. Fangder glided up the wall on his eight long legs. His eyes were locked on Boyle. His fangs dripped.

Ingrid’s heart pounded. She threw a handful of missiles at the spider. They all missed, bouncing off the walls.

“Hey! Down here!” She shouted at the monster. Fangder paid her no mind. He crawled up to the ceiling, then slid down even with Boyle. He hooked the bundle with Boyle in it with a leg, and swung him close. Ingrid screamed. Fangder sunk his teeth into Boyle’s neck. Ingrid watched in horror as the bundle squirmed, just like the insects in so much webbing, and then he went still.

The thread holding him up snapped, and Boyle crashed to the ground. Ingrid ran over to him, and knelt down, tearing at the webs with her fingernails. She clawed through a layer, then peeled off a large piece, finding Boyle’s face beneath, beard tangled with silk, eyes sunken and dead. Ingrid fumbled in her pouch for a cassia leaf and shoved it between his teeth.

Nothing happened. The cave faded, even Fangder vanished to nothing. All she could see was Boyle, his dead body, Boyle no longer in it.

Her heart stopped. Her breath caught. She was speechless. Nothing came. No words. No snark. Just silence, deep and cold. She put her hand on the lump of web where Boyle’s hands would be. Nothing stirred. He stared at the ceiling, face frozen in pain.  
No more eye rolls. No more traded jabs. No more petty games and simple pleasures. No more wit. No more ego. No more laughter that brought him close to tears. No more smiles that filled his eyes with warmth and opened a window wide into his soul.

Ingrid felt something cold in her middle rip in two. Two frozen aching halves that settled over her lungs and hurt so badly it drew tears from her. She put her fist to her mouth and tried to fight it, but the sobs came, each one bigger than the last.

This couldn’t be happening. If she didn’t cry, it wouldn’t be happening. The tears overwhelmed her as the full brunt of the situation hit her.

Boyle…

Boyle couldn’t be dead.

Ingrid woke in a snap, jumping between worlds without a moment to understand what was happening. Above her was her ceiling, and she was snug and warm. Blinking and finding tears in her eyes, she wiped her face with the corner of a nearby blanket, and realized she was in her own bed. On the nightstand was a teacup from last night. A few lonely embers burned in the grate.

Ingrid threw off the covers and got dressed as fast as she could. The images of Boyle’s dead face followed her as she dragged a comb through her hair grabbed her hat. She wouldn’t believe in a miracle like this unless she saw it with her own eyes.

Ingrid threw open the door to her home, and the temperate night air of midsummer rushed in. She made her way to Boyle’s shack, rundown as ever. She raised her fist and banged on the door so loudly it echoed off the cliffs.

“Boyle Wolfbane!” she shouted. Nothing. She banged on the door again. After several long minutes, the door clicked and swung open.

Boyle stood there, struggling to keep his eyes open, hair mussed up, shoulder plates on crooked.

“Er… Ingrid?” he asked, “What are you doing here? It’s past midnight.”

Ingrid had never been happier to see his confused and mildly accusatory face. Relief poured through her soul, and she took a deep breath to compose herself. Boyle was fine. He was here. Nothing bad happened to him. Ingrid leaned on the door frame with her arm.

“You borrowed a cup of sugar the other day. I want it back.”

“What?” he said, “That’s not how borrowing a cup of sugar works! I already put it in the batch of treats I made for Fang!”

“Well that’s not my problem, is it? Get me that cup of sugar back or you’ll regret it!” she snapped. Boyle did a take, then split into a grin all of a sudden.

“Oh I get it, you need the sugar so you can stop being so bitter all the time.”

Ingrid stepped back, every word drawing her back into reality. “Me, bitter? Speak for yourself, Boyle I-Almost-Ruled-The-World Wolfbane.”

“Oh, I’m not bitter,” he said, glancing upwards, “I have a gargoyle.”

Ingrid followed his gaze up to the frozen statue of Qetesh above them and instantly wished she hadn’t.

“Also, Fang was happy,” Boyle added. Ingrid sighed.

“You’re hopeless, you know that?”

“That’s why we’re all here, isn’t it?”

Ingrid cracked a smile. She couldn’t help it.

“Yes, your hopelessness just draws us all in like a magnet. Look, if you’re not going to give me back that cup of sugar, at least let me come in and have a cup of tea.”

“Okay, but I warn you, it won’t taste good,” Boyle said, “I’m out of sweetener.”

“Just the way I like it,” Ingrid said, and sauntered in. Boyle shut the door behind them, and rubbed his hands together at Fang, who stared at him with squinted eyes from his dog bed. Upon seeing Boyle awake, he leapt up and ran over. Boyle knelt down and gave him pets all over his neck.

“Hey, Fang, we’ve got company! Want a midnight snack?”

Fang barked. Ingrid flinched. She would never get used to that sound. Rather than be assaulted by dog spit once Fang got bored of Boyle’s attention, Ingrid made her way to Boyle’s stove and put the kettle on, then sat down at his small table crammed up against the wall near his Hall of Stuff. Boyle spent another minute with Fang, then joined her, his dog plopping down under the table.

“You look more frazzled than usual,” Boyle said, “Did something happen?”

“None of your business,” Ingrid snapped. Boyle shrugged, and grabbed a tin of ginger snaps off the counter nearby. He opened it and offered them to her. Ingrid took one and nipped at it. The taste flooded her senses, and with it came another wave of relief. Boyle loved ginger. An insane thought occurred to her that she might tell him how she felt about him, without any sarcasm.

“What’s in these?” she asked, frowning at the rest of her cookie with suspicion.

“Ginger!” Boyle said, “ And not a lot of sugar.”

Fang muttered happily under the table, chomping on a treat.

So it was just her, then. Ingrid shoved the rest of the cookie in her mouth and swallowed. Just then, the kettle went off.

“What kind of tea do you want?” Boyle asked, standing.

“Black,” Ingrid said.

“Of course,” Boyle replied. He returned with two mugs and the steaming pot. She could smell the cinnamon in his cup. He poured his, then handed her the kettle, and she did the same. They waited for it to steep in comfortable silence.  
Ingrid imagined life without Boyle. Without moments like this. This strange, in-between feeling, of friends, rivals, enemies, and something deeper. Marriage was off the table now since he broke the curse, but they still had this. Boyle hadn’t left forever after breaking the curse. That had to mean something, didn’t it?

Boyle cradled his teacup in his hands. Ingrid wanted to touch his fingers and held back. Was it the tension she enjoyed? Did he feel it too? Would this collapse if she pursued anything other than what was now? Did she want anything other than what they had now?

Something in her cracked.

“Boyle,” she started, not able to meet his eye. She tried to say more, but then second stretched out into awkward silence. She looked down. Fang whined under the table.

Fingers brushed against hers. She looked up.

“Ingrid,” Boyle said, half-amused, eyebrow raised. She steeled her witch’s courage, and looked him in the eye, heart flopping over itself in a panic even as she kept her voice even.

“Thank you for letting me in,” she said.

“You’re welcome,” he said, grinning.

“And thank you for the tea,” she said.

“It’s cheap,” he said.

“I cursed you to marry me because I was afraid that you would leave me otherwise,” she said.

“I know,” Boyle said. Ingrid saw for once that behind the mask of incompetence, his eyes carried a glint of pure savvy.

They sat there for a moment, hand on hand.

“I… guess you’re smarter than you look,” Ingrid said at last.

“Glad you can acknowledge that,” Boyle said with a grin, “Want another ginger snap?”

Ingrid nodded, then did a double take of the cookie. She snatched it from his hand, then scowled at him.

“Boyle, is this one of my roof shingles?”

“Of course not!” he said.

Ingrid stood up and folded her arms. Boyle gave her his best winning smile. They were in for a tiff now, it was inevitable.

_Let's have this one, and a thousand more after it,_ Ingrid thought. She met Boyle's gaze, and she could tell in his eyes that he agreed.

They could never have it any other way.


End file.
